Christmas Promise
by obeytherandomness
Summary: John made a promise to Sherlock and their son that he would be home for Christmas before heading back to Afghanistan. Will he be able to keep that promise? Johnlock


I don't own Sherlock.

I'm also not British so I'm sorry if I get some of the sayings and stuff wrong.

* * *

"You better be careful John," Sherlock said sternly as his kissed his husband.

"I'm always careful," John replied with one of his confident grins.

"That's what I'm worried about," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You're idiotic brain doesn't know the meaning of being careful."

John full out laughed at that. "I'm more careful than you've ever been," he pointed out with a grin.

"Yes," Sherlock agreed readily, "but I have you to take care of me then."

"Don't worry about it Sherlock," John's smile turned reassuring. "I'll be careful and I'll have a whole army behind me."

"Daddy." Both men looked down as their son, Hamish, inserted himself between them and tugged on his dad's pants leg. "When will you be back?"

John smiled and reached down to scoop his son up in his arms. "I should be back for Christmas," he replied.

"Do you promise?" Hamish asked with his trademark pout. John couldn't help but remember once again that Hamish's pouts looked so much like his papa's when he was sulking. It was always funny for John when Sherlock went into a sulk because Hamish loved to copy one or both of his fathers so he would always sit right next to Sherlock and pull of the exact same look. Needless to say, Sherlock's sulks never lasted long these days.

"I promise," John agreed readily.

"And you'll bring back presents right?" Hamish asked immediately.

"So demanding," John said playfully. "I'll see what I can do."

"They're boarding now captain," a man cut through their moment and John nodded at him before turning back to his husband and his son.

"I've got to go Sherlock," he said. "You be good." Then he turned to his son. "You make sure that papa behaves alright."

"I will," Hamish said determinedly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes again, but he couldn't keep the grin from his face. "You be safe," he said once more as he gave his husband one last kiss and took his son in his own arms.

"I will," John nodded and, with one last wave at his family and anyone else who had shown up to send him off, he headed towards the plane.

* * *

It had been months since John was gone. They were only able to speak over the phone rarely and they were able to speak over Skype even less so. Sherlock was not enjoying the time away from his husband. The only thing that was keeping him out of a true sulk at having to be away from the other was their son. At one time he would have completely shut down when John went away, but now he had better things to do. It would be better if John was there, but he was happy to be with his son.

The only other solace that the two of them had was that John liked to send letters. There was a pile slowly growing on Sherlock's desk in the living room and Hamish loved to use them to practice his reading. Sherlock was not going to stop him especially since he read every letter before showing them to his son. There were some, ones that were kept hidden in Sherlock's room for safe keeping, that Sherlock would never show their son. Some of them were words of love that were meant for his eyes only, but those weren't really the ones that he was concerned about. The ones that he really didn't want his son to see were the ones that John talked about what was happening in the war. It was a system that they created a long time ago when John almost cracked under the pressure of trying to keep all the trauma hidden from both of them. Sherlock had immediately demanded that John write the things down and that Sherlock would make sure that Hamish never saw them. After all, John had continuously acted as his sounding board whenever he was off duty and he felt that he could do something similar when John was on duty.

John had also found the quickest way to send these letters home. He was working at one of the trauma centers that had a lot of soldiers come through so he could ask any one of those who had been invalided home to give the letter to Sherlock. Sometimes they would simply stick it in the mail once they arrived in London and Sherlock would get it shortly thereafter, but more than not, Sherlock found that he had soldiers at his door carrying letters and words of gratitude towards his husband. Hamish loved to meet all the soldiers. He loved to ask them questions about how his dad was doing and if they liked his dad. Sherlock could deduce that most of them didn't even know John before he treated them, but they all did their best to satisfy the little one's curiosity so Sherlock never mentioned that. Besides, they saw John long enough to at least know that he was still okay and Sherlock liked to hear that whenever and as often as possible.

So when Mrs. Hudson found a soldier at the front door one night she invited him in with a smile. "Sherlock stepped out to get Hamish something to eat some time ago," she said as she led the man into Sherlock's apartment. "The two of them should be back soon. I'll just tell them you're up here when they come back."

"Another one of you lot then," Lestrade smiled as he sat on the couch with Sally and Anderson. The three of them had been their for a while waiting for Sherlock to return so that they could retrieve some evidence he was withholding from him again. Sally and Anderson had been grumbling the whole time about how they should just throw another drugs' bust, but since they had the child, John made them promise not to do another one and Lestrade was not a man to break his word no matter how irritating everyone got so he was very happy to have someone new to talk to.

Lestrade opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted as Sherlock came bursting through the door with a grin and an equally excited son in his arms. That's when everything changed. Sherlock's expression fell from his face as he froze in the hallway and he had to grip his son tighter just so that he wouldn't drop him in his shock. "No," he whispered.

Lestrade, good man, stood up immediately, recognizing the signs and took Hamish from Sherlock as he fell to the ground only to hand the little one to Sally. "You and Anderson take Hamish down to see Mrs. Hudson," he said quietly. Sally nodded and Lestrade only waited long enough for the three of them to disappear through the door before he turned and carefully picked Sherlock off the ground. "Come on," he said. "Let's get you into a seat." The soldier who still stood in the living room immediately moved to help until Sherlock finally collapsed in John's chair.

Lestrade frowned when he noticed Sherlock's choice of seating. Usually everyone, including the people who lived in the house, were forbidden from sitting in that chair. The only other time he had sat in that chair, Hamish had been kidnapped and Sherlock spent every waking moment going through the evidence with the comfort of John's smell beside him. John had immediately gotten a short leave, everyone pretended that they didn't know that was all Mycroft's doing, and the moment he got back he and Sherlock hunted down the idiots that were stupid enough to take their son. During the chase, the kidnappers all tripped and that was the story that everyone was sticking to because, really, that was the only possible way for them all to be so badly beaten and scarred.

"No," Sherlock shook his head again once he was seated. "This can't be happening."

"I'm sorry sir," the soldier spoke. "I'm very sorry to tell you that Captain John Watson was pronounced KIA."

"No!" Sherlock screamed and, without thinking, Lestrade found himself kneeling in front of John's chair with a crying Sherlock in his arms. That was something that Lestrade had never seen. No matter how bad the situation got, Sherlock had never let a single tear drop where anyone could see him.

"You're lying!" a little voice came from the front door and everyone turned to see little Hamish standing there. "Daddy's not dead. He promised that he would come back for Christmas."

"I'm sorry sir," Donovan mumbled. "He got away from us."

Sherlock said nothing. He just put his arms out and Hamish came to him immediately. The two of them clung to each other while the others in the room looked on in sympathy. It was nearly five minutes before the soldier felt that it was okay to interrupt them.

"We found this among his things," he handed a letter over to Sherlock who took it without letting go of his son.

"Thank you," he whispered as he clutched both the letter and Hamish close to him. The soldier nodded, gave a firm salute, and then left the building.

"He's a liar papa," Hamish said resolutely. "Daddy promised that he would return for Christmas. Daddy won't break his promise."

But Sherlock couldn't make himself believe his young son. The evidence was in his hand. The simple letter was all that he needed. He had seen several of these come and go throughout his time living with John. The man always wrote them on the way to wherever he was stationed at that time and then quickly burned them the moment they got back. The fact that he was clutching the letter instead of John dropping it into the fire was all that he needed to know.

He couldn't say that to his son, though. He couldn't break his son's hope like that. He would have to tell the boy sooner or later, but he just couldn't bring himself to do that right now. Hamish was all he had left and he didn't want the boy to break the way he was. He wanted to be able to comfort his son when he was forced to explain everything to Hamish and that certainly wasn't right now.

"Let's let your dad have some time to himself," Lestrade said after another moment. For a second Sherlock clutched Hamish closer to him, not wanting to let the little one go, but then he let go because he wanted to read the letter and he knew that Lestrade would keep Hamish safe.

"That soldier was lying," Hamish said again as Lestrade led him out. Lestrade gave him a pitying look and then closed the door behind him.

Sherlock turned back to the letter the moment the door had closed. He took a short moment to examine the actual envelope. The only sign that it had been touched were from the people handling it to get it to him. Other than that, John probably finished writing his letter, put it in the envelope, and then never touched it again. On the front cover there was a short inscription that read: _To Mr. Sherlock Watson-Holmes. _Sherlock smiled at the memory that surfaced as he read his own last name. John hadn't wanted to give up his own last name, but he most certainly was not going to not take Sherlock's so it was finally decided that they would combine them. Then they had to decide whose name would be first. The only reason they eventually decided on John's being first was because Holmes-Watson just didn't sound right at all.

It took several more minutes for Sherlock to gather up the strength necessary to actually open the envelope that held the letter and then another few minutes before he could open it up and actually read it. He could already feel the tears coming back to his eyes before he even read it, but he couldn't let that get in the way. Not right now. He needed to read this last message from John. Even if it was the last thing that he ever did.

_Dear Sherlock_

_ I love you. I think that's a good place to start this letter. It's always how I've started all the other ones that I've been able to burn. Maybe it's good luck. I know, I know. You don't believe in luck, but I'm really willing to try everything if it means that I can return to you in the end._

_But if you're reading this, I guess that means that it wasn't enough this time. I know that the only reason that you would be reading this letter is if I am MIA or KIA. Hopefully I'm just MIA. I still have a chance of making it back to you if that's the case, but if I'm KIA then I'm really sorry that I didn't keep to my promise. I just want you to know that I died with honor. I was protecting people and I was saving lives and I was glad to be doing all that. I just want you to know that. In the end, I was happy to have gone out with my men._

_I really hope that I don't have to show you this letter, love, especially after the promise that I made to Hamish. I really wanted to be there for Christmas. You always come up with the best gifts to give everyone. It's always a laugh to see what in the world you came up, but I guess I'll have to miss it this time. Tell Hamish that I said I was sorry for breaking my promise. Tell him that I was saving lives when I died. I don't want him to hate me for breaking my promise. I don't want him to hate me._

_I'm really sorry that I'm forcing all this on you, Sherlock. I never wanted this to be the way that it ended. I wanted us to live a good life where the two of us chased criminals until we got too old and frail. Then I wanted us to be able to move to the country and raise bees. Just like we always talked about doing. I wanted to die in my sleep with you lying next to me. I just wanted us to live happily together. I'm sorry I ruined that. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you. Please forgive me for all that this will put you through. _

_I love you,_

_John Watson-Holmes_

By the time Sherlock had finished reading, tears were cascading down his face once more and this time they just wouldn't stop. "I forgive you, John," he cried out hoping that John would be able to hear him in the afterlife. "I forgive you and I love you more than anything in the world. I love you."

"Come on Sherlock," Lestrade said as he lifted the other to his feet and began directing him to his bed. "You need to rest for a while." Sherlock could do nothing, but allow himself to be pushed and prodded until he was lying under the covers with the letter still clutched in his hand. "Hamish is going to spend the night down at Mrs. Hudson's," Lestrade said once Sherlock was finally settled, "and I'm going to be spending the night on your couch. Call me if you need me ok?"

Sherlock could only nod his response because his throat felt so restricted that he knew he wouldn't be able to talk even if he tried.

* * *

The next few days were like hell to Sherlock. He had to ready himself and his son for a funeral that wouldn't even have a body to bury while Hamish continued to tell him that it was all okay and that daddy would be back for Christmas just like he promised, but that just made everything worse. Sherlock tried several times to explain to Hamish that John wouldn't be coming home, but he could never bring himself to get out the words. Hamish just looked so hopeful and Sherlock didn't want to be the one to steal that hope from the other. He knew it was going to have to happen sooner or later.

When the day of the funeral came around, Lestrade came and picked the two of them up and Sherlock left Hamish in his care so that he would be able to grieve without having to look after his little one. They stayed late and Sherlock held Hamish's hand as he clung to the folded up flag that had been given to him in John's stead. The two of them stared at John's name carved in stone for hours before Hamish got hungry and Lestrade took him away and Sherlock was left alone until he came back to pick him back up.

Lestrade took the two of them home and then stayed the night just to make sure that they would be okay. Hamish tried to reassure Lestrade that his daddy had taught him how to take care of his papa while he was away and that he was perfectly capable of handling things until John returned. That's when Lestrade took on the task of properly explaining everything to the little one. Hamish continually denied that John was dead and kept saying that he would return, but eventually Lestrade got him to promise not to say things like that in front of his papa.

* * *

More days passed and Christmas slowly approached until Sherlock found himself and his young son at Scotland Yard's Christmas Eve party by way of Lestrade's insistence. Even though Hamish was the only young boy, or perhaps because he was the only child there, he was having a lot of fun.

"I told you this would be good for him," Lestrade said as he and Sherlock watched the little one play.

"Thank you Lestrade," Sherlock replied. There was a time that thank yous never slipped out of Sherlock's mouth, but then he met John and had a son and he learned manners for their sake. "I don't think I would have been able to get through these last through months without your help."

"You would've been fine," Lestrade said without any form of doubt in his voice. "I just leant a little hand every now and again to make things a little smoother."

Sherlock would have said more, but he was interrupted by the jolly Ho ho ho of one of the Santa impersonators that roamed around this time of year. "You didn't," he glared at Lestrade who just attempted to look as innocent as possible.

"Look papa," Hamish came running up to him, "it's one of Santa's helpers." That was something that John had convinced Sherlock to go along with. They both knew that there was no way that their genius of a son would be fooled by the fiction of Santa for long so John had come up with an alternative where Santa was more like a boss in a large corporation with many workers who worked different factions. There were still little bits of magic that John liked to add in, like how they were able to communicate no matter where they were, but he made sure that it all sounded much more believable then the original story. Sherlock had been completely against, but John had convinced him with a smile and a kiss that had led to a bit more so there was no way that he could deny him that. John had also promised that, when Hamish finally figured out that Santa was just a fiction, he would be the one to explain it to their son, but there was no way that was going to happen now.

"You had better go tell him what you want for Christmas then." The moment the words had left Sherlock's lips, Hamish was dragging him towards where the man dressed as Santa was now sitting. All the adults stood back and watched with amusement at Hamish's eagerness. Sherlock was grateful to them for all the things they were doing for him and his son since he lost John. He just wished that none of this ever had to happen.

Hamish crawled on top of the fake Santa's lap the moment the man said he could and sat as comfortably as he could on the padded leg. "So what do you want for Christmas this year?" the man said with a jolly smile. Sherlock had to admit, this was one of the better actors that he had seen, this man truly enjoyed pretending to be Santa, but that wouldn't fool his son.

"Will you make sure that Santa gets my wish?" Hamish asked.

"Well I am Santa," the man replied.

"No you're not," Hamish said as he leaned in to whisper conspiratorially into the old man's ear, "I know all about the real Santa and that you're one of his helpers, but I promised my daddy that I wouldn't tell any of the other kids so you don't have to worry about that."

"Oh good!" the Santa impersonator laughed, deciding to go along with the story. "I'll make sure that Santa gets your wish then."

"I want my daddy to be home for Christmas," Hamish said proudly. Everyone in the room froze and held their breaths, but the fake Santa didn't seem to notice as he glanced up at Sherlock and then back at the little boy in his arms.

"I'm sure that your daddy will be home for Christmas," he promised with a grin.

Lestrade quickly came forward and grabbed onto Hamish's hand. "Come on little one," he said with a forced smile. "I have something to show you. Let's let your papa talk to Santa too." Hamish was quick to comply and with a wave of his hand towards the fake Santa he followed Lestrade out of the room.

"How dare you," Sherlock growled once Hamish was out of hearing range. "How dare you promise something like that to my son."

"Oh come on man," the Santa impersonator replied. "Surely you can take one day off to spend with your son on Christmas."

"I am his papa," Sherlock hissed. "His daddy died in Afghanistan several months ago." The fake Santa's eyes widened as the weight of his mistake fully hit him. "Now, along with the disappointment of not having his dad there for Christmas, I also have to tell him that my husband lied to him and there's no such thing as Santa Claus."

Sherlock didn't even allow the fake Santa to reply before he stomped away to find Lestrade and his son so that they could go home.

* * *

Lestrade offered to spend the night again, but Sherlock denied him and told him to go spend the night with his boyfriend, Mycroft. Lestrade left, but not without promising that he and Mycroft would come and visit the next day. Sherlock scowled at Mycroft coming to visit him, but he nodded and Lestrade left as Sherlock went to put Hamish to bed.

Hamish went to bed more quickly then he usually did on Christmas Eve. He wasn't the type of child who tried to stay up and catch Santa, John had told him that if any of Santa's helpers were caught in the act they would just skip that house the next year, but he always had trouble falling asleep for the same reasons as Sherlock. This time, though, he went straight to bed talking about how he wanted it to be Christmas sooner so that he could see his daddy again and Sherlock smiled sadly as he tucked his son into bed before going to his own room to hopefully have his own dreams about John.

Bright and early the next morning, Hamish was up and in Sherlock's room bouncing up and down as he tried to shake Sherlock awake. "Come on papa," Hamish said in an excited tone. "Wake up! Wake up!"

"Just five more minutes," Sherlock mumbled. He had never been one to wake up very quickly.

"No," Hamish whined. "You have to wake up now. You have to come see. Santa brought me exactly what I wanted for Christmas."

"I'm up," Sherlock mumbled even though he really wasn't. "Go wait in the living room. I'll be out in a bit."

"Hurry!" Hamish said in parting as he rushed out of the room.

Sherlock took several minutes, clinging to what was left of his dreams about John, before he finally forced himself up and out of bed. He wrapped himself in a sheet, too lazy to put anything else on, and made his way to the door. He could hear Hamish in the living room, animatedly talking to someone, and he figured that Lestrade and Mycroft must have been there earlier than they were supposed to. He looked down at the sheet, knowing that he really should get dressed when they had visitors, but decided against taking the time before opening the door.

"And nobody believed me," Hamish was saying in the living room, "but I knew you wouldn't break your promise."

"I'm sorry to worry you and your papa," a voice that definitely did not belong to either Mycroft or Lestrade responded. In fact, it sounded a lot like…, but it couldn't be.

Sherlock rushed into the living room and two very familiar faces looked up at him. One belonged to his very excited son and the other belonged to his supposedly dead husband. "You were a prisoner of war," Sherlock said, falling back on his blunt deductions in his shock, "but you escaped."

John only smiled and reached his good arm out to Sherlock from where he sat on the couch. "I'm sorry, love," he said. "I did everything that I could to get back to you as soon as possible."

"Oh god." Sherlock was in John's lap with his arms wrapped tightly around the other as quickly as possible. John tensed as jolts of pain went through his body, but he didn't say anything.

"Papa," Hamish spoke up, "daddy said that we couldn't sit in his lap because it would worry his injuries."

"Sorry!" Sherlock gasped as he quickly moved to the side with the uninjured arm, but he couldn't let himself let go of John for fear of the other disappearing so he wrapped his arms around the uninjured arm and held it close to him. John only smiled and gave Sherlock a kiss before turning back to Hamish and giving him permission to start opening presents.

* * *

Hey guys! So I really like the surprise returns and I know I probably should have posted this sometime around Christmas, but I didn't even have the idea for it until after Christmas had already passed so here it is. I'm probably going to post John's side of the story too as the second chapter for this story, but this part is done, which is why it says complete on the description. I hope you guys enjoyed this. Thanks for reading.

P.s. I'm sorry that I kind of skimmed over John's funeral, but I knew that there was no way that I was going to do it justice so I decided not to even try and wind up completely mangling it.


End file.
